I know, two posts in two days, crazy. But this poem arrived in my inbox this morning, reminding me that in the end, we can only ever know what we know so far, and that sometimes, more knowing just reveals more unknown. There’s a whole lot of not knowing how much I don’t really understand these days, how much the whole world seems to not entirely comprehend the power of words and actions. This is the kind of vague notion that keeps me awake at 3AM.
Then, this showed up. Doesn’t fix the world or my view of it, but somehow it helps, just a little. Thank you, The Writer’s Almanac, for this gift, this morning:
What I Know
by Lee Robinson
What I know for sure is less and less:
that a hot bath won’t cure loneliness.
That bacon is the best bad thing to chew
and what you love may kill you.
The odd connection between perfection
and foolishness, like the pelican
diving for his fish.
How silly sex is.
How, having it, we glimpse
What I know is less and less.
What I want is more and more:
you against me—
your ferocious tenderness—
love like a star,
once small and far,
now huge, now near.
“What I Know” by Lee Robinson from Hearsay. © Fordham University Press, 2004.